Sleepless In Kansas
by euphoricunderworld
Summary: Dean is an insomniac college student. What happens when his foolproof way of making himself sleep gets him more than he bargained for? Destiel. [Cross-posted from AO3]
1. Chapter 1

It felt like there was sand in his eyes, grinding away at the sensitive organs. His hands shook as he reached for another glass of water. The back of his head felt like it was full of cement. "You look like hell, man." His brother turned a pitying expression to him, and he was just too tired to be witty.

"I know."

Thirty seven hours and forty nine minutes of wakefulness takes a toll on a man. He felt so tired during the day, thinking longingly of his bed and blissful dreamlessness. Instead, he had crawled into his bed last night and felt claustrophobic and insecure. His thoughts followed a cycle, touching on different things with each pass, but always landing on the same thought. What was wrong with him?

He had somehow made it through the day, so tired he could not fall asleep, even in his Survey of American History class. Finally, he was home, with no pressing obligations until one the next afternoon. He showered, relaxing his muscles with overheated water and the calming scent of vanilla shampoo.

Naked, he lay on his stomach in his bed. One arm was by his side, tucked under his hip; the other pulled his pillow into a more pleasing shape under his head. His left knee was facing away from him, his right foot straight below. Dean closed his eyes, waiting for oblivion.

His thoughts grew restless and he rolled onto his back, hoping to stop his mind from revolving again.

Why was he the way he was? Why was it so impossible for him to just sleep? Was there something wrong with the chemicals in his brain? It must have something to do with is personality. He held too tightly to some things, like his brother and his need to protect and feel needed. There were things he held like fire – too far to burn but close enough to feel the warmth. Those were the things he craved so much they scared him.

He wanted acceptance and love, but why would anyone give him those things? He couldn't do it, not really. Oh, there were things he accepted but he never could wrap his mind around the whole picture.

His sexuality was something he could accept. Mostly, at least. He could accept what it was, but all the labels just pissed him off. Why should it matter if he hit on a woman but ended up leaving with a man? If he was attracted to them, it was because of them, not what they kept in their pants or what box they checked on government forms.

Other people didn't understand, but it really did not bother him.

What bothered him right now was that he still could not sleep!

With a sinking heart, Dean realized he had been lying here, fruitlessly courting sleep for three hours. It was one in the morning and Sam had just opened the door. He was home from Jess's house.

Sam was always considerate of Dean. He knew he could never sleep and so never invited Jess to spend the night; he felt bad when Dean would wake after only a few hours of sleep to the sound of a hastily muffled text tone. Another person talking, breathing, existing in the same area would quickly send him into insomniac hell. So he stayed over there, or made sure to come home alone.

With a sigh, Dean sat up and ran his hand over his face. A clean pair of pajama pants were pulled over his legs and onto his hips before he left his room. Sam's shoulders drooped when he saw Dean walk to the fridge. "I'm sorry."

Dean hated hearing that tone come out of his brother, as if he was apologizing for existing. Dean shot him a grin, but he knew the circles around his eyes robbed it of its usual charm. "Not you." He grabbed himself a root beer, caffeine free soda for the insomniac, of course. "Catch some sleep, dude. One of us should."

Sam listened, for once. When his brother's back had disappeared into his bedroom, he set up his laptop. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be productive. There was an English paper due next week, and he could start it early since he had the time.

A few more hours passed and Dean knew he was almost to the hallucination point of sleep deprivation. He had been there often enough to see it coming. As he drank another root beer before jumping in yet another shower, because he never felt clean when tiredness weighed him down like mud on his skin, he realized it was possibly a good thing. It was not something he liked to do, but he knew that if he got close to that point, there were things that he could do to make sleep come.

With this solution in mind, Dean was careful when dressing for work. Dark, tight jeans were pulled over black leather work boots. A slightly looser black t-shirt was layered under a red plaid button up. He was ready for his after work plans.

It was fifteen minutes before his shift when Dean parked his Impala outside of Singer Salvage, his Uncle Bobby's business and his place of employment. Bobby shook his head at Dean, but didn't say anything as he pulled coveralls over his jeans and t-shirt, leaving the plaid hanging on his hook. He did not bother hiding his look of worry as Dean dug into a Ford Festiva's carburetor problem.

The day passed with Dean ignoring the nauseous, shaky feeling that exhaustion and lack of appetite combined to create in his body. Bobby watched him like a hawk, muttering 'idjit' under his breath when Dean's trembling hands dropped a bolt for the third time. Dean chewed his lip to avoid screaming at the older man. It was not his fault he was irritating Dean, he was just worried. Everyone knew that so little sleep was not healthy. Bobby was a second father to him, better than his first, actually, and he should be thanked for his concern.

It was just that his concern set Dean's teeth on edge.

Bobby finally lost all patience and sent him home an hour early. He stripped the coveralls off and pulled the plaid back on, then climbed back into his car. There was plenty of time to scope out the Roadhouse before he brought somebody home. A little alcohol, some sex, and Dean would be able to sleep for a while, at least until his temporary bed partner tried to leave.

A glance in the rear view mirror served as a last minute appearance check. Honestly, Dean was surprised he looked as good as he did. A constant state of sleep deprivation had burned his body's reserves until the bones of his body and face stood out starkly, though only the barest hint of stubble graced his chin. Purplish stains surrounded his eyes, making him look as if he spent his nights fighting, instead of restless. It made the green of his irises quite striking, actually. His lips weren't chapped for once, and his hair was actually willing to be styled as he wanted it after two showers. All in all, he looked pretty damned good for someone who's most recent stretch of consciousness had passed the seventy one hour mark.

As insurance, he sent a text to Sam that said he was going to bring someone home. Sam would know what that meant and would not approve, but he knew that Dean was not going to let it become the problem it had been before. He trusted that Dean didn't want to become that person again; the person that passed out drunk and puking in front of the toilet or woke up next to strangers with no recollection of even meeting, just for the sake of a few hours' sleep. He had worked hard to be where he was, even if he got less sleep. He had not liked being so dependent on something so blatantly addictive, being dependent on something that had already torn his family apart. Dean knew that this was why the only response he got from Sam was a warning to be careful.

That was all he needed to be ready. It was not smart; he and Sam both knew it. But Dean was desperate. This was just the latest stretch in weeks of crappy sleep cycles. He was going to fail his classes if he zombied out instead of paying attention. Grandpa Samuel wouldn't pay for college if he wasn't going to pass, and he would probably disappoint Bobby more than he wanted to think about. Dean was convinced everything would be okay if he could just fucking sleep.

The door to the Roadhouse brought Dean to a dimly lit, smoky room that looked much bigger with the lights on. He had no intention of seeing that tonight, though. No, he wanted to be curled around a warm body in his bed by the time Ellen shouted for last call. To that end, he took himself to the bar, which was really the midway point between the types of patrons the Roadhouse catered to. From the door to the bar, it was a socialization center, with people sitting at tables and talking, or playing pool, with a steady rock beat in the background. From the bar to the back of the building, shiny linoleum floor rocked with lights and skittering, pulsating dance music.

Ellen smiled when she saw him. "Hey, good looking. Been a while since I saw you."

The sounds at the bar, rock warring with pop, shouted conversation and screamed come-ons were blending into a beat that his body still knew. It amped him up, made him smile at the bartender, and made a part of him regret giving it up. He squashed that, knowing that he had made the right decision. "That's college. Whiskey and sprite?" He didn't really like the drink, but Coke had caffeine in it. All the things his fucked up mind had taken away from him made him even angrier. He couldn't even drink a damn Coke.

Ellen smiled and made his drink, having it in his hand before he had completed one turn of his surveillance. He winked at her before something told him to look behind himself again. A dark haired man, wearing all black and a smug smile, laid his hand on the shoulder of another dark haired man, though the second was taller than the first. Dean watched them, a feeling in his stomach telling him he needed to. The taller man seemed to be unhappy with his situation. He jerked his shoulder away from the shorter man, but it did not seem to deter him. For a few seconds, Dean watched this continue as the taller man slowly made his way towards the bar, but never quite making it.

Dean took a swallow of his drink before giving a quick, unfriendly, smile to Ellen and moved toward them. He didn't like when someone could not take no for an answer. He just had time to register that the taller man was wearing a waistcoat – and who does that in a bar? – before he turned and looked directly at his harasser. His messy hair caught a patch of light from the bar, showing it to be a deep brown and not black, before he lifted his arms and forcibly shoved the shorter man away from him. The black clad man stepped toward the formal one, straightening his black dress shirt. His chin jutted out, pompously declaring his disbelief, if Dean was any judge.

He had stopped when he thought that the man had stopped the situation, but he started forward again now. However, he could have saved himself the trouble. He was just four feet away when the tall man punched the other in the jaw with a mean right hook.

Dean thought that it was possibly the sexiest thing he had seen in quite some time.

Before the bully-turned-victim could retaliate, Dean was by his side and forcibly gripped his arm, pulling him toward the door. The crowd was opening around them when Dean looked at the man. His chin seemed to be swelling, and his lower lip bleeding. "A gentleman knows when to take no for an answer." There was a police officer standing outside the door when Dean shoved him through.

"Sod off." The injured man jerked his shirt back into place again and raised a lofty brow to the police officer, before calmly stalking away from the bar. The officer just nodded at Dean and followed after him.

Now that this was taken care of, Dean could go admire the man that had dealt that damage. He found him at the bar, dropping a shot down his throat, ignoring the bag of ice Ellen was trying to hand him. Just as Dean got within easy speaking distance of the two of them, the man turned to Dean. His eyes widened and it felt as if his heart kicked up a beat. The man was all angular features and tanned skin around full lips and Dean could swear that someone had painted those eyes on him, they were so blue.

Too bad the man was obviously not interested in being taken home tonight.

"Great shot, man. Couldn't have done better myself." He smiled, the charm he had sworn was gone back in full force. He held out his hand. "Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

For a second, Dean was worried that his lack of sleep had made his drink go to his head faster than he thought it had. Was he suddenly less charming? The man just tilted his head and raised one eyebrow, just slightly. Then he gave a half grin and grabbed his hand. Soft skin with just a touch of callous met his fingers, but his thumb felt a broken, semi-scabbed knuckle. Apparently, it didn't hurt enough for the ice.

A man that could take pain was fucking hot, in Dean's opinion.

"Castiel. And no, you could not have. Ex-boyfriends definitely hit harder." Dean tried to stop the small smile that tried to consume his lips. Maybe there was a chance he would let Dean take him home. After hearing that voice, Dean really, really wanted to take him home. That voice was already deep and sexual, and made Dean wonder just how much he'd have to do to bring it down to inhuman levels of hearing.

"I hope you left him, not the other way around." When the man gave another head tilt and brow lift, which was actually kind of doing it for him, he continued. "If he left you, he's stupider than he looks." When he continued to look confused, Dean made a point of dragging his eyes up and down Castiel's body.

The confusion seemed to clear up after that, because he even smiled completely. Then, he took the drink that Ellen left beside him and leaned back against the bar. He watched Dean, not bothering with the sideways looks he was used to. Dean was not sure if it was because he had been so bold in his flirting, which really was not actually odd for him, or if this was just the way Castiel flirted. Either way, he gave another cheeky smile before finishing a second drink. The buzzing sensation in the back of his head told him that he did not need more alcohol, so he just paid his tab. A part of him wanted to text Sammy and tell him that he knew what he was doing, because he had only had two drinks and willingly cut himself off. The other parts of him were saying to pay attention to the hot man next to him, if he really wanted to sleep tonight.

"You know that I can defend myself from unwanted advances." Castiel gave no indication if he meant it sarcastically or not.

Dean felt a moment's hesitation at that, but then smiled again. "I think you would've punched me already if you didn't want it." He signed the receipt that Ellen pushed to him and then added a smiley face and the word thanks to the bottom. She winked when she saw them, and Dean just shook his head. The woman was always pushing for him to get serious with someone, had even tried to set him up with her daughter. That had ended in a pretty decent friendship, but both had decided there was no way that they were going to ever be more than that.

Castiel signaled for his tab as he looked at Dean. Really, Dean felt he was seeing far more than could possibly be revealed in the poor lighting of a smoky bar, but he was not sure that he didn't like it. "I would have."

It only took a second of patience, Dean waiting for Castiel to sign the slip of paper, before Dean got his attention back. "Wanna come back to my place?" Something about the way Castiel flirted with him made him want to be even blunter than he usually was. "I'd really like to fuck you."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, because they had started that fine trembling again. He wasn't sure if it was still just from lack of sleep, or if it was because the way the guy was looking at him now made his blood pump faster. "I will be outside of this bar in about five minutes. If you are there, I –" That smile was incredibly sexy, and Dean almost forgot to listen to the end of that sentence. "will definitely think about fucking you."

Dean turned and walked toward the door, not really caring what the guy did in five minutes, because he would be sitting there for him. The cooler night air brushed over his face as he took a few steps outside. There was no sign of the cop or Castiel's apparent ex-boyfriend, which was all to the good according to Dean.

However, the time was probably not great. It gave him a moment to think. One of the reasons he had been so willing to give up this kind of life was that he had started to hate himself. Or, rather, he had started to hate everything about himself, instead of just some of it. He had started to think of finding partners like conducting a business transaction. It made him feel dirty because it almost felt like prostitution, though they gave him sleep instead of money. However, it also made him feel low because he was using these people. Never mind that people did this sort of thing all the time, Dean should know better than to twist someone's desires into a way to meet his own needs.

He was a pro, though. Professional at hiding his feelings, acting like nothing was wrong at all. By the time he heard a throat being cleared behind him he had his expression schooled into one of interest. It slipped, just a bit, into a smirk when he saw that Castiel had donned a less than immaculate tan trench coat. The contrast between fitted dress pants, dress shirt, waist coat, and an honest to God tie, and a shapeless shroud around him made him want to chuckle.

Instead of saying anything, Dean just nodded his head toward his Impala. The man followed, waiting as Dean opened the door for him and crawling in with another raised brow in his direction. He didn't say anything, so Dean didn't have to worry yet. Instead, he slid into the driver's seat and started the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he sent a glance toward the man. "So, Castiel, what do you do?"

"I am an accountant. What of you?" He seemed interested, turned to be able to look at Dean without getting a crick in his neck. His attention never wavered, and Dean wasn't sure if it was unnerving or if he appreciated it.

"I'm a college student – business management – and a mechanic." He smiled at Cas, then dragged his attention back to the road. He wondered how old he was. He looked to be a few years older than his twenty two. It didn't really matter, though. They were already pulling up to the house he shared with Sammy.

Castiel did not want for him to open the door for him, instead popping it open and standing beside the car before Dean had time to pick the right key out of all the rest. The porch was only vaguely lit, because Dean had forgotten to change the light bulb when it changed from bright white to sickly yellow. It was still on, and really, that was all he cared about. It meant that Sam had indeed left the house with the intention of sleeping at Jess's. He didn't have to worry about finally falling asleep only to be woken by Sam failing to stealth into the house.

Another twinge of regret rolled up his spine. Here he was pretending that he was in this for the sex. He was going to like it, he was sure. Even if it was awful, it would be better than he'd had in the last few months – none. Castiel was a damn sexy looking man, and if Dean had been on the other end of a full night's sleep, he would definitely be screwing this guy faster than an eye blink. Dean really just wanted to sleep that would come after, though.

What kind of Winchester was he that would rather sleep than have sex?

Dean made an effort to push that thought away as he opened the door and stepped in before Castiel. He flipped on the hall light before he leaned against the wall and toed his shoes off. Once Castiel had finished doing the same thing, he hooked a finger in the pocket of Castiel's pants and started leading him back toward his bedroom. He moved them both back, but made sure Castiel was slightly faster than he was, so that he was kissing him before they made it through the doorway.

Castiel kissed him back, his lips soft and resistant for only a few seconds before getting demanding. He pushed himself into Dean's mouth, not waiting for Dean to allow entry. It was something new to Dean, most of his lovers were… not hesitant, but something like it. They were generally receptive versus aggressive. Dean thought that this new way was pretty freaking great.

His mouth wasn't the only thing getting pushy. He pushed his hands up Dean's chest and over his shoulder's, pushing the plaid off of him. Dean let it drop before he started working at the buttons on the waistcoat. His legs hit the bed before he got it off, and Castiel grunted into his mouth as he started helping with the buttons. With the both of them working buttons and pulling at fabrics, Castiel was shortly without a shirt, or anything for that matter. Dean was amazed the guy could undo a tie while kissing, because they hadn't stopped so it hadn't come off over his head.

Heated fingers skimmed up his sides as Castiel pulled his shirt up. Dean pulled back, waiting for the shirt to be over his face so he could go back to kissing the lips that were definitely top ten of all the lips he'd kissed. Castiel hesitated, though. The collar of his shirt was just above his mouth, the rest covering his eyes. It felt like it was being pulled to his left, so Dean tilted his head that way. Castiel was an inch or so shorter than him, but he didn't really understand why that would make taking his shirt off at all odd.

His soft moan of questioning was answered by a gentle bite to the right side of his neck. Teeth scraped across his suddenly crazily sensitive skin and he growled and ripped the shirt the rest of the way off his head with one hand, burying the other in Castiel's hair. When his fingers clenched, Castiel bit harder, and it was a good thing Dean was already half leaning on the bed. His knees had suddenly decided they didn't need to support his weight anymore.

When he dropped to the bed, a breathless word left his mouth. "Cas." The other man released the pressure of his lips and ran his tongue in a circle around the imprinted skin. Air touched heated wet skin and it was like sex was new to Dean again. Cas was looking down at him, because apparently he had seen they were going to the bed right then, and Dean was totally going to pay him back for that cheap shot, and had managed to fall so he straddled Dean.

He could feel himself pressing against his jeans and against Castiel still in his dress pants. That was just way too many clothes for what he had in mind. He put one hand behind Cas's head, dragging him down for another kiss, while the other moved to the button of his slacks. It took almost all of his concentration, but he managed to make a good accounting of himself with his kiss while getting the button undone one-handed.

A hand settled over his own, but instead of pushing him away, he pushed it into his own pants. When Dean tried to unzip the pants, Cas moved his hips back. While the friction of them rubbing together was really good, Dean groaned because he really just wanted to be naked with this beautiful man on top of him. "Patience." Cas whispered against his lips and Dean just groaned because patience had never been his strong suit. A shifting of pressure and Cas was sitting up again, smiling.

Cas slid his hand down Dean's stomach, nails down so they scratched until they dipped below the waistband. Another gentle wiggle, nails no longer leading the way, he felt along until only the tips of his fingers ran along Dean. One, two, three shaky breaths escaped Dean's mouth until he clumsily tried to do the same to Cas.

As he seemed to be the expert at this, Dean followed his lead, touching as he did and moving as he did. Every other time he'd slept with a man it had been a mad scramble to get hands and mouths all over each other as fast as they could. While that had definitely worked, this was better. He had time to look up at the man on top of him. Dean was a little disappointed that those blue eyes were closed, but he decided to look at the rest, since it was not bad at all.

For a second, Dean stopped moving. Just above Cas's right hip was a weird tattoo. It was a circle with a small triangle over it, with a few small rune looking things around it and a bigger one inside. Cas opened his eyes and cocked his head, using a more forceful thrust of his hips to remind Dean that there were important things happening.

He touched the tattoo with two fingers and asked a question with his eyes. Honestly, Dean was far too involved to talk, it would have come out breathy or as a growl. Cas dropped his shoulders and shot him a look. "Right now? Couldn't we talk about this after?" When Dean shook his head, because no, he would probably drop off to sleep too quickly, he just sighed. "It's an angel banishing sigil. Supposed to make it so no angels are about. It was a joke." He breathed a few times and then moved his hips again, earning him a few gasps, but also another point. Dean needed to know what joke. "All of us are named for angels. We all have one. Satisfied?" When Dean nodded, he nodded and then unzipped both of their pants quick enough that Dean didn't know it was happening until it was over.

He leaned over and kissed him. Dean was now pretty sure those lips were top five. Just when he was trying to decide if they could be top three, he stopped and stood. Dean just looked at him, his mind screaming for him to come back, but all that came out was a frustrated growl. And when the hell had that happened? Dean hadn't been speechless during sex since he was sixteen.

Cas just smiled and bent over Dean, placing wet kisses down his chest and stomach, distracting him from the fact that he was pulling his jeans off. He didn't notice till the air felt positively chill on areas that had been extremely hot before.

The sexiest thing that Dean had ever seen was Cas dropping his own pants and actually sauntering back to Dean. But, Dean had thought he'd seen the sexiest thing ever multiple times tonight, and then Cas would somehow top it. Maybe he should start saying sexiest thing yet?

All at once, Dean was sick of this. It was nice for a while to not be top, but Dean was not one to be commanded all that often, and he didn't want Cas to get any ideas. Before he could react, Dean sat up and propelled himself forward, tucking his arm around Cas's waist, and dragging him into the bed. This time, Dean left himself on top.

Cas just smiled and Dean decided it was time to prove that he wasn't just messing around.

He leaned forward and kissed Cas harder, taking control with his tongue and a few nibbles. Cas was mostly relaxed at the beginning, but Dean could feel his shoulders tensing and his mouth pushing him back. There was no way that Dean could let him take control without fighting for it. His tongue played over Cas's, doing his best as he slid one hand silently toward a drawer, silently pulling a bottle of lube and a foil package out. He set them near his knees, out of Cas's line of sight. Dean may not be great at much, but he was a damn good kisser, and he knew that Cas was thoroughly distracted.

A little more skill was employed by his tongue, some of it stuff he hadn't known he possessed, and he was sure he had distracted Cas enough to slip a condom on himself. He wanted to kiss Cas skillfully enough that he didn't notice what Dean's hand was doing, but also because kissing Cas seemed to be second priority, and impressing him even more important. The condom slipped on him easily, his hardness actually working with him. His breath shuddered for a second against the other man because the feeling of a hand on him, even his own, was almost too much in the context of what they were doing.

With a deft flick of his fingers, he opened the lube, managing to silence the pop it made as it opened. He coated his fingers generously. He stopped the kiss and braced himself above Cas with his dry hand. Cas breathed deeply a few times and then opened his eyes. No confusion this time, just a challenge that made Dean grin.

Dean kissed him again, being sure to roll his tongue and nibble his lip, anything to get him back into the kiss before pressing his finger in, slowly. Plenty of warning, so Cas could stop if he wanted to. Dean was satisfied that he didn't when all that happened was a small moan that he felt against his tongue. They kissed for a while, Dean breathing heavier as he worked his hand, imagining what it would feel like after they moved past fingers. When he could feel Cas moving his hips, rocking up and down too quickly for his tastes, he worked another finger in. Another satisfied half-moan came out of Cas's mouth, tasting like perfection on his tongue. When he felt that Cas was open enough, he decided to move forward.

He didn't pull back this time, just laid a small kiss on his lips and then pressed small, comparatively chaste, kisses at the corner of his lips, down his cheek, and onto his neck. When he felt Cas's pulse under his sensitized lips, he spread his mouth wide and positioned his hips, holding Cas's hips tight in his hands. One slow breath in through his nose and he bit down, hard, as he brought himself forward. His teeth were buried inside of him, as his dick was pushed into Cas. It felt better than he had imagined before.

Under him he felt Cas take in a deep breath and the release it. "Dean." He had heard it. Something about it told him that it was important and that he wanted to hear it again and again. The intensity of the emotion had him terrified. Dean had never really been comfortable with emotion, which, given his thoughts sometime in this never ending day, about needing love but being afraid, made sense. Unfortunately, his brain was not working well. It couldn't cope with how much he was feeling physically to even make sense of his emotions.

He didn't move for a second. He couldn't if he wanted to last for anything longer than a nanosecond. He licked the excess saliva from his bite and tried to think of something that would distract him from the perfect heat and pressure around him.

Apparently, he was still for too long, because Cas started to shifting his hips in the smallest movements. Dean released the death grip he had on the slim bones beneath his fingers and they became bigger movements. His breathing picked up, but not quite as quickly as Cas's. When he came, he captured Dean's mouth in his, screaming, and Dean took it into himself to hold forever, to pull strength from. Hot wetness struck his stomach and then Dean was fucking perfect. On the end of Cas's orgasm, Dean started his, returning the favor and screaming his release back into the best lips he'd ever tasted. He had decided somewhere in there, subconsciously at least, that they were the best lips on the planet, in all of time.

He smiled against Cas's lips and then reached a hand between them, holding the condom as he pulled out. No point in being clean enough to use the condom and not… remembering that it could… spill after.. when it.. came out.

His thoughts were sluggish, but Dean managed to throw the condom away in his trash and to wipe Cas down with his t-shirt. The last truly physical thing he did was throw the shirt in the corner and curl up on his bed. Finally, his body wanted to sleep and his mind was going to let him. Why it had to happen the first time he actually wanted to be awake in a long time, he couldn't tell. This was why he had done this, right? For sleep? It seemed so shallow and wrong now that he had accomplished it.

"Cas."

Now his brain had shut down that filter. He was thinking things that he didn't need to say. Or was it saying things he didn't need to think? Something like that. "Stay, please." Or, maybe he did need to say them. But he couldn't do it now. Not when his brain was finally letting it go. Letting consciousness go. "Be a while. Long while. Stay. Please." He looked over and those blue eyes were burrowing into him. "E-splain later." The eyes didn't look unhappy or frightened or any of the other emotions that could have been there and that would have made him uncomfortable. They looked trusting, and that terrified him. "Promise." He didn't know exactly what he was promising. Sleep finally took him.


End file.
